


"Only This Moment"  assorted prompts

by ballpoint



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Platonic Romance, marriage fic, ultimates marvel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-13
Updated: 2009-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/ballpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bits of ultimates fanfic, and there's one Tony Stark and Maria Hill</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Only This Moment"  assorted prompts

Star Spangled Banner

It's been three hours and six days since Steve has been thawed. Everything is different: the taste of the water sharper, for one, and Steve pushes that to one side. Meat doesn't taste like it used to, and drinks are entirely too sweet. Howie, Douglas, his parents - are gone, and the facts still hit him. He has extended family, Fury said, but Steve knows enough to know that to them, he'd be nothing but myth, a curio, so he leaves them be.

People speak differently too. At first, when he listens, it sounds like white noise, a sort of static before he tunes in, and focuses on the fact that yes, it is English they are speaking. From Thor's careful non accented tones, to Fury's deep, sharp orders, rounding off with Jan's quick West Coast flavoured words, and ending with Tony's _lah di dah_ twists in sentences.

Everything is different, even this tune - and Steve is so struck by the Buck Rogers _strangeness_ of it, that when he hears the wail and snarl of electric guitar, backed up by the steady beat of drums he rests on the channel. Time stops, for want of a better word, as this black man with big hair wrings the notes of the Star Spangled Banner that makes the air tremble Steve can only mouth the words, and when the last verse leaves his lips and the land of the free, and the home... of the brave. The strains of music wraps around his heart, drags it to his throat, and Steve breaks.

Because.

Because, there's still America, and he's come back _home_.

 

No Great Romance

Theirs is no great romance, Maria knows. She's too (cynical) wise, too (suspicious) aware of Tony's various tells to be taken in by even one.

The charm and manner are slick, true. Something akin to those clever trompe l' œil illustrations that she studied in school, where the boundaries and reality shifted so cunningly. Tony is like that in real life, swinging shadows and perceptions, a trick of the eye, conjuring his own magic. It might have taken her a while, but she knows where those are, and acts appropriately. It does not help that Tony has few traits to recommend him. He's fiercely introspective, and has shields around his inner self like hammered steel. There's the inappropriate martyrdom, that he insists on wearing against his heart like a hair shirt, even now, despite his being on the side of right in that war of the superheroes back then.

No, Maria thinks, as she shrugs into her jacket and slacks, braces herself for the slap of wind, the shock of cold as she stumbles outside. The Adirondack is cold this time of year, and it distracts from its picturesque lake front views. Tony is alone, looking out, or probably looking in. He has a way of doing both at the same time. His slacks are a mess, his hair is shaggier now, prone to curl. He wears it a tad longer too, and there's the grey swirling from his temples. "Like a sensible Dr Strange," she can hear him even now, "if he stayed on the right of science instead of veering towards magic."

"Hill," he greets her, and his voice is affectionate despite the use of her surname. "You're up?"

"Finally," she yawns, and scans the place for the first time. It's big, the lake that fills her view is neatly tucked in the corner of bigger mountains, there's intense shades of green, shocking even in the scrubbed dawn. She nods, because even the city girl like her can appreciate the verdant beauty of the place. "When you promised me a water front view, this isn't what I had in mind."

"If you can't hack it-"

"Two days," Maria says. "I promised you two days."

She's rewarded by a genuine smile. His eyes are warm, interested. She knows that he's glad to see her, and she's glad that she's made the trip. "Thank you," he says.

No, there isn't much to recommend Tony Stark, but as Maria knows, there isn't much to recommend _anyone_ when you think about it. But Tony is the rare person who tries to be better than he is, and he inspires that in her too.

No, there isn't any great romance here, just a good one.

 

 **A Wedding is a Great Excuse to Party**

"It's a great day."

"Hmm?"

"This," Steve said, smiling, as they looked at the crowd dancing to the strains of Benny Goodman and his band's The A Train. A happy, swinging beat, with enough lyrics for people to move their lips to. Granted it was the alphabet, A, B, C,D..., but some people were singing it with such gusto, it might have been a rowdy college chant. There was Carol doing a weird shimmy movement with her shoulders, and half hoping half stepping to the beat with - Clint. A frentic complicated eight step, before Clint grabbed her arms and made her swing out, the full skirt of her dress swooping up, and -

"Hello," Tony said. "Carol has... attributes. Hiding her light under a bushel, I see."

Steve nudged Tony with his shoulder. "Behave, you're married now."

"Ah yes, the old ball and chain," Tony's lips twitched with his amusement, as he leaned into Steve, his hand holding his tumbler of whiskey."The ink isn't even dried on the certificate as yet, and it's already nag, nag, nag."

The air was filled with noise- laughter dancing on the notes of music, the stomp of feet against solid floor. The acoustics of the hall gave the laughter and music a resonance, made it seem as if the whole world was in this room, celebrating. A sea of bodies in their fancy doodads. It was an ornate gilded treat of a hall - with a sweep of marble floors, huge glass windows that brought the sun and air in.

"This," Steve repeated, standing behind Tony, wrapping his hand around Tony's shoulders, and pressed his cheek against his, close enough to smell the notes of his cologne... and him. "They are here, for us."

"Always the romantic," Tony murmured, as he held Steve's hand and pressed it against his lips. There was the warmth and firmness of skin, contrasting with the slick surface of metal around Steve's finger. Tony held it there for a second, appreciating the strength there. "They might have come for the shenanigans, the chance to be at the Waldorf Astoria, or the excellent liquor. Society weddings, you know what they are like."

"We're society? As in, do I have to pick a charity... or something?"

"Someone's been reading."

"I didn't- " Steve cleared his throat, as he pulled away. Tony turned, so that they were face to face. Steve Rogers, clad in his uniform, and shiny shoes, his hair ends sharp from a recent trim. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sober, his hands at his sides. "I said yes, not because of this. But, a man doesn't go into unfamiliar territory without doing intel."

Tony could only grin. "My God Steve, you make it sound as if you're going behind enemy lines or something, instead of living in clover for the rest of your days."

"I would," Steve gave a crooked half smile, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying. "For you, I would."

In that moment, every aged phrase of love Tony had a nodding acquaintance with was new. What they were was real, and vital as the battles they fought, they won - and lost.

The shy half smile, the face before him as familiar and loved as his own.

Tony nodded, and closed the distance between them with a step, and pressed his lips against Steve's, hoping that Steve wouldn't hear his voice hitch on the following words. "I know," but it wasn't enough. "I'd go _middle class_ for you, but marriage is quite enough, I think."

Steve's chuckle was proof that he'd said the right thing, and because he couldn't wrap his arms around Steve (and where would he put the Chivas Regal, heaven forbid), he rested his free hand on Steve's shoulder and leaned in.

There was the pop and flash of lights, complete with sharp, wolf whistles of encouragement. It didn't matter, none of the trappings mattered. Steve was right.

It was a great day.


End file.
